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Posts Tagged ‘time’

After School

“After school”

used to mean

running up the hill

to melodic chimes—

sharing a slushy,

matching blue tongues.

 

My mom always gave me

five more minutes

in the “ducky playground.”

There was a broken duck seat

attached to the ground

with a spring.

I sat on it,

rocking it back and

forth, side to side,

trying to break it

more.

 

My best friend told me secrets

before we slid down

the biggest slide,

and we always liked

the same boys. I hated that

but loved her,

and we wrote bad songs

and stayed up late watching

sad movies.

 

Now “after school” means

401k plans, an unpaid lunch hour,

and early dentist appointments.

Resumes catered to jobs catered

to people catered to me, but

never catered to you.

If you aren’t full time,

you are wasting time,

and there is no time

for you and me

to talk about what we want.

Never say

what a company can do for you.

What can you do for them?

What can you do for me?

 

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I look at my hands

like they are digital

and bright

with messages and ads

on them.

 

I don’t feel capable

of nurturing you.

I stare at screens

too much

to pay attention to you.

 

I can’t have free time

when I feel guilty

being mindless.

 

I remember you

but I forget how to

handle you.

I care about you

and don’t care about you

until it is over.

Then you become

something else.

 

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Buried under this snow
is the day I will be leaving
and won’t push open
that heavy door
that those broken steps
lead up to.
I won’t walk
up that ramp,
leading to his office—
walls covered in paintings
like in a living room,
and a cleared off desk.
Typewriter next to him.
I sat in the same chair
every time.

The benches that I found
refuge in will no longer
be my benches,
but they will remember
my warmth,
and the sound of my typing—
those essays and stories
they heard for hours
in a form of Morse Code.

I wonder how long
it will take for my name
to just be a name
and no longer my face
or voice.
My poems might take on
new meanings.
Or I might take on
a new meaning.
But I am not sure that
I want to find one.

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Most of a lifetime

Photo credit: livingwisdom.kabbalah.com

Photo credit: livingwisdom.kabbalah.com

The power of a second

can hold

death,

love,

an accident,

a look,

an idea.

A second is

an opportunity

to prolong

the brief hiccup

of time by

simply remembering

the feeling.

A second is a finger,

a limb,

your heartbeat,

the last blade

of grass a cow chews.

It took one second

to find you

after waiting

most of a lifetime.

But a second was 

too long

for you to notice

me there,

so you turned away.

 

 

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Days, Weeks, Months

Photo credit: laudatortemporisacti.blogspot.com

Photo credit: laudatortemporisacti.blogspot.com

The silence of waiting

sits deep inside me

on a bottom shelf,

dust covered

and not well

put together.

The screws are

stripped and nothing

is lined up.

Anything that is

on the shelf is in danger

of collapsing and

breaking its sense

of worth.

But if something stays

just long enough

for someone to pick

it up,

then the rest

will align.

 

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Only kind of

Photo credit: wallpaper-million.com

Photo credit: wallpaper-million.com

It’s funny–

some of the

things we

say and believe.

Like that being

awake at 2:30 AM

is staying up late.

When it is

actually early.

Even though

time itself

is a made up

thing.

And as we lay

in bed at 2:30 AM

wide

awake

we feel one

of our cats

jump up

and waltz over

to us.

Our cat can see

us in the dark,

we think

to ourselves.

So she will see

my hand reach

out for her,

we assume.

But the thing

is, cats can only

kind of

see in the dark.

Just like we can

only kind of

tell which cat

is on the bed

without

touching

them.

 

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What I can see

Photo credit: lakshanisuranga.wordpress.com

Photo credit: lakshanisuranga.wordpress.com

I have heard fog

as being described

as blankets

before.

Blankets

of fog.

But as I was

driving

through the

thickest part

tonight

and kept finding

spots that

opened up,

I felt like

I was in

a tunnel

in another time

zone.

Like the open

pockets

of light were

time and space

shifting.

 

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